


Alpha

by Jane St Clair (3jane)



Category: Alpha Flight, Marvel, X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-07
Updated: 2011-08-07
Packaged: 2017-10-22 08:57:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/236337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/3jane/pseuds/Jane%20St%20Clair
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nightclubbing ... we're nightclubbing ...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alpha

**Author's Note:**

> Co-written with Thete1 and originally posted under Janete (Jane and Te).

Out clubbing in downtown Montreal. Nate tries it out on his tongue,  
say it like a native, but can't do it without hijacking someone else's  
voice. Maybe it's the American in him.

It's been raining for weeks, and the world is almost glistening with  
it, humid and alive. Like the steamroom of a bathhouse turned loose  
in the Old City.  Not something that Nate's ever experienced for  
himself, but the thought's hanging in the minds of a half-dozen  
people near him, and he can't help picking it up.  Gets that flash of  
messy-sticky-anonymous-sex that comes with the idea and rides  
through it rather than shaking it off.

Just on the streets, trying to be invisible and almost managing it.  
Watching.  Because he *knows* how lost he is, but more so in a  
night-bright place where no one looks at him.  Where everyone's  
there only across a language-barrier, and he can only run on vivid  
psychic impressions.

His shoes on the pavement soaking at the toes.  Comes past a  
row of tourist-shops towards the source of the bass-throb that's  
been running up through his knees towards the pit of his stomach.  
To what must have been a warehouse a hundred or two hundred  
years ago.  With some kind of huge, though utterly human,  
flesh-mass guarding the door, and a string of bodies running out  
to the corner.

He's to all intents and purposes invisible, which gets him past  
both crowd and bouncer, though he has to contort to get his body  
past the latter.  Walks into a mass of heat and noise that reminds  
him of the world ending.  Only after a minute it resolves itself  
into something rhythmic and hand-mixed.  And he's finally able to  
put some order to the bodies pressing against each other in what  
to his first look was a mass orgy.

Opens his mind very carefully, and starts sorting.  Realizes how  
many of these glossy, black-layered bodies are barely adults, barely  
older than him.  On the island for the night and with much less  
medieval lives spiraling outward on the mainland.

He isn't sure whether this is supposed to be English-language or  
French, but every sound his throat tries to make is swallowed by  
the sound moving, and in the end he has to get a glass of water  
by signs.  Stands very still until the music breaks, and then feels  
his eardrums ache in the new silence.

Turns his head at the psychic wave of excitement that hits him  
the second before the people around him give voice.  Angles his  
head between sculpted skulls towards the speakers like cliff faces.  
Up there.  Two bodies, elementally male and female and too thin  
for his survival-focused mind to accept, pressed against each other  
from shoulder to knee and somehow not touching with their  
hands at all.

It's inside him far too fast, sneaking past the barriers with a sort  
of sly care. Neither of them so much as looks at him, but he knows  
they know exactly where he is. Small rebellion to just watch for  
the moment, or perhaps he's just playing into whatever they might  
want from him. There aren't any games like those the psi-powered  
play.

He's not annoyed, though. He doesn't know them, they aren't  
causing any trouble with their play. Nothing more than drawing  
eyes to slim and lean and pale and... liquid, somehow. They are  
perfectly in synch with each other.  The girl's arms high above  
her head, swaying with the motion of her body, the boy's hands  
ghosting over the air between his palms and her nearly nude back.  
The music, Nate knows, is completely irrelevant. Their rhythms  
don't so much jar against the bass as declare themselves wholly,  
artfully independent of it.

The water is cool when Nate drinks, the rest of the room blurring  
conveniently, and he lets himself notice his own desire, focusing  
itself on the two mutants and leaving him to decide what, exactly,  
he's going to do.

Feels it at the back of his head and it isn't anything like words, or  
even something capable of words.  Like a touch.  That he blinks at  
stupidly for a second, then rolls psychically back against.  Flash of  
something and when he focuses on the two of them again, the  
boy's fingertips are just barely touching the back of her neck.  And  
he doesn't think anything of it until long after the knot's undone  
and the black string-straps of her top are trailing loose down over  
the girl's shoulders.  The front sliding down between them.

They separate just enough for the cloth to slide between them, and  
Nate gathers about a second before everyone else in the room that  
it's just the boy's hard, flat chest hiding her breasts from full view.  
Ghost-touch of the boy's hands around the outward curve of her  
flesh to underline that fact before one of his palms settles  
possessively into the small of her back.

Nate gets that.  Not just visually, but viscerally.  Given to him  
through that delicate psi-touch, so that he can just barely feel her  
nipples and the soft flesh behind them pressing against him.  
And oh *strange* because at the same time he gets the full-force  
of his flesh pressed up against a warm, thin-cloth surface that's  
both hard and breathing underneath.  Wonders with the part of  
him that's geared for analysis and survival whether she isn't the  
more powerful psi of the two.

Gets that confirmed when the boy ducks his head and bites gently  
at her collarbone, and Nate *feels* it.  So much he presses his  
fingertips against the bitten place and has to wait until the  
sensation fades to prove to himself that neither of them's  
telekinetic.

Doesn't quite know when he decided he was going to, but he's  
pushing across the room, psychically smoothing tempers as he  
goes.  TK-boosts himself while he jumps so that he doesn't  
have to scramble.  And faces them, extending one hand to stroke  
the girl's shoulder, the half-hidden curve of her breast.

Freezes at what should have been obvious -- they're twins, from  
the pale lean muscle of their bodies to the sculpture of their faces.  
They make him fell round and... what was the word? Blowsy?  
Overly ruddy. A peasant in the presence of lords. Or perhaps he  
does it all to himself, as they are back to being wrapped in each  
other. Eyes closed, but still somehow gazing into themselves, the  
psi power.

This close, he knows for certain that the girl is lending more of  
herself to the link than the boy can. Woman, Man. Sister and  
brother and his hand is touching nothing more than the air that  
curves around her breast. Their clothing is black and silver,  
nagging something inside him that finally bursts free with the  
slightest nudge of their link. Northstar, comes clearly, the faintly  
hidden Jean-Paul beneath.

The name is shrouded in privacy, a trick Nate has seen before.  
Something along the lines of a secret handshake -- Know me, but  
don't call. A prickle around it in his mind and soul, sharp as the  
shards of a broken sword, yet somehow still inviting.

Nate feels. Very young.

The message from the woman is clouded, and confused. Clearest  
is Aurora, but there are other names there just barely beyond his  
ability to catch.  Something wrong there, something serious that  
Nate does not want to explore.  Selfish. He wants the link. He  
wants the flesh, and the heat they both radiate, febrile and pure.

He means to touch.  Touch her, at any rate, but his hand gets  
caught by Northstar's and held in the air between them.  It's a  
grip he could break easily, with his telekinesis, and he's tempted.  
Doesn't like being imprisoned.  But this isn't malicious, only  
dominant.  Nate's to mind his manners.

Understands, and relaxes his arm consciously.  In front of him,  
they're still moving, almost grinding together, and he has this  
sense of a mass of energy around them.  Inexhaustible, or nearly.  
Both watching him.  Because, he understands, he's been given  
permission.

To slide his hand in between them and get a sense of both bodies  
at once.  Hers only a little softer than his, only a little more  
interested.  His reserve coming from something personal and not  
from body-lust.  Not at all.  Flash of desire at that first touch,  
radiant through the delicate shields of a low-psi.  But Nate might  
be dangerous, might not understand his place, might take the  
opportunity to rip through them psychically.  Nate realizes that  
Northstar didn't think it was a good idea to get his attention in  
the first place, because he's sane enough to understand that  
taunting an omega-class psi is absolutely, fabulously  
dangerous.

That, as much as anything, probably made her do it.  As long as  
they're touching, it's impossible to escape the fragmentation of  
her thoughts.  'Aurora' isn't the only persona in there, but she's  
the most powerful, and she'd walk through fire if it looked  
exciting enough.  Radiating animal-lust at him through his touch  
on her belly.

Quiet enough that he almost can't hear it over the club's music, s  
he says, "Who are you?"  Just a little stilted, a reminder that this  
isn't a language she's comfortable with.  The way her thoughts  
are all the more difficult to read because the language she thinks  
in isn't one he knows well.  "You look like Cyclops, a little, but  
your eyes aren't."  Ending the sentence with a shake of hand and  
hips.

And over the link he's finding himself tangled in, he gets

//nategreyhe'snategreyareyoucrazy'stieofcourseyouare'titesalope  
whatareyou*doing*//

The paranoia almost as enticing as the lushness of Aurora's  
body.  Adrenaline-burn comes to him vicariously and he *wants*  
it.  The taste.  Leans in without breaking his touch and kisses  
Northstar.

It's *there*.  Bitter-sour fear scent mixed with something sweeter  
that he thinks must be arousal.  Slightly sharp lips against his,  
not giving at first, not until Nate projects *softNatenotdangerous*  
and the softest belly-grovel he can.  More than one way to survive,  
to *have*.  Then hard, deep, wet.  The flat belly against the back  
of Nate's hand heaving with the slick sex of it.

Not the first time he's kissed a man, but this isn't quite the same.  
He could blame it on the rush and fade of connection between  
the three of them -- he's never been with another psi before --  
but it's more than that as well.

The twins radiate with intensity, like they've been doing nothing  
but building up a charge between the two of them all day. Brief  
hot-sick moment to wonder what they would've done if Nate  
hadn't come along, flash of lean bodies and perhaps drawn  
blood and Nate sucks in a breath. Northstar's breath, and the  
kiss is almost fully closed.

Contained far too much for the heat of it, for the stroke and  
glide of their tongues, the helpless slide of his hand and Aurora...  
Aurora's hand teases up and down the side seams of his jeans.  
Nate isn't sure if he wishes they were tighter or looser. Pause in  
the music just long enough to hear the sudden swell of voices,  
to feel eyes on them, on the kiss and her hand and their eyes.

//want to go//

Broadcasting his own thoughts much too loud, feels the psychic  
wince and the return of mistrust and he doesn't even try to  
explain himself.

Slides his hand further and further between them until he has  
one arm wrapped around Aurora's waist. Pushing himself  
between them until his cock is hard against Aurora's belly. Until  
Northstar is grinding against his ass, with intent.

//please//

Response immediate and predatory. Rake of nails on his thigh,  
hard smile against the back of his neck and he. He knows his  
place. Surge of uncomfortable *rightness* in this. Willingly  
surrendering despite his own ridiculous power to... anything.  
He knows little if anything about Alpha Flight beyond what  
he's learned since he's been here in this universe with only  
disturbing similarities to his own no family no kin and he  
doesn't even have to bite it back when Jean-Paul begins  
thrusting against his back seam.

When Aurora nudges his chin aside to bite and suck on his  
throat.

Submission accepted without further pause and Nate knows  
he's gonna be fucked tonight.

He breathes as much of the tension out of his body as he can  
and opens his eyes.  Gets visually and psychically *hit* by the  
crowd, just down an arm's length, watching them.  Like some  
kind of blood sport.  Glances down at the soft warmth pressed  
almost violently to his chest and gets to remember, suddenly,  
that Aurora's top is down around her waist.  That if he moves,  
she's going to be exposed.  *Naked* in front of this mob.

Only she grins against his throat and twists her body away, and  
he's sure everyone in the club gets a good second's view of her  
stripped lushness before she blurs and stands pressed to him  
again, clothed.  As clothed as she was when he first saw her.  
   
He wonders, feeling the mass of eyes on them, whether the  
crowd doesn't know *exactly* who these two are.  They have a  
kind of public vividness about them, the way movie stars do,  
that awareness of being known.  So he shouldn't be surprised  
when Aurora air-walks down to the dance floor and holds her  
hands out to him and Northstar.  Who drops sharply off the  
side, lands as heavily as a mere mortal and walks to her with  
slightly hunched shoulders, like he'd like not to be seen  
anymore.  Nate takes something between the two -- not  
showy, but soft, so he doesn't have to drop into a crouch as  
he lands.  Hooks his fingers into the back of Northstar's  
jeans and lets himself be led outside.

Still as humid out there, but less oppressive.  Fewer minds, he  
supposes.  Less *fever*.  The absence of the bass-beat of the  
music is its own peculiar physical sensation, like he's suddenly  
freer to move.

Walks a little behind them.  Watching Aurora, who deliberately  
skims the ground.  Bare-skinned and hard and radiantly,  
psychotically beautiful.  Touching Northstar at the vulnerable  
small of his back.

Startled, utterly and completely, when Northstar suddenly  
whirls on him, too fast to see clearly, and takes him by the  
shoulders.  Pushes him back into the mouth of the alley nearest.  
And all Nate's thinking, stupidly, is that someone could come  
along and *mug* them, and it's such an utterly not-him thing to  
think that it must be a psychic relic from the club.  Some mind  
he touched.  While Jean-Paul (radiant the name, suddenly,  
man overwhelming public man and superhero and pinup boy)  
pushes them up against the wall and kisses him.  Hungry,  
hungry, desperate and deep and very fierce and defensive and  
oh *god* it feels good.  The thigh between his rock-hard and  
rubbing at his cock in something that lives between gift and  
threat.

Just so *good*, and then this *push*, and it isn't Jean-Paul  
pushed up against him anymore.  Aurora.  Smaller, softer, fiercer.  
Madder, he thinks.  Barking.  But focused on him more than he  
can resist; even the delicate brushes of this attention feel good  
to him -- controlled and sweet and like something that could  
make him the near-centre of the universe.  Still with his  
shoulders against the wall while she presses against him, but it's  
not such an awkward position that he can't slide a hand up from  
her side to her breasts, weight that heaviness in his palm and  
*squeeze*, not hard enough to hurt but certainly enough to  
make her moan out loud, to make him search out a nipple  
under the thinness of her shirt and *rub*.  
   
He breaks his mouth off of hers and turns, just a bit, enough to  
see Jean-Paul leaning against the dumpster, panting and  
watching them.  Something smoky and not entirely decided in  
his eyes.  But when Aurora turns toward him, he still holds his  
arms out to the curve of her body.  Pulls her into his backwards  
lean and kisses her.

Oh, *strange*.  More tender than he would have believed for  
these two, and not everything he's getting off them is lust.  
Single instant of singleness where their separate personalities  
are invisible to him, and he almost.  Almost.

Turns off, slightly.  Looks at the water-reflections of the street  
beyond the alley's mouth and the towers of light that obscure  
the downtown sky.  After a minute, they come up behind him  
and touch.  Both at nearly the same moment, and a hand that  
he can't identify slides around to rub at the front of his jeans.

In his ear, Northstar (cool, liquid black again, to make the  
name fit) whispers, "You can fly?"  And he realizes that this is  
the first time he's heard this man speak.

"Yes."

Aurora, on the other side, points to a particular gleaming tower.  
"We're staying up there."

And Nate still feels some small reluctance. Not necessarily the  
wish to not intrude on the two of them as the selfish want  
to have something tonight for himself. Something unexpected  
and yes, necessary, but he's at their side as they lift. Not fast, but  
not slow, either, and this he understands.

The friction of the air too rough not to feel, too soft to satisfy.  
Aurora on his right, making bright flashy spirals of her flight.  
Northstar on his left with a hard, closed smile that speaks less of  
joy than of a brutal sort of satisfaction with... what?

Gentle push at the twin's continued bond, but Nathan can't quite  
find the answer to it. Northstar's expression makes him want to  
be large. Large, naked, and hard, utterly inescapable. Unavoidable,  
unignorable, *something*, but he keeps his own flight steady and  
dull, and fears what might be showing on his face.

Balcony small and crowded, Aurora's hand on his ass, testing and  
squeezing, half-absent smile on her face while Northstar opens  
the door and steps in. A moment to wonder what's next before  
they fall on him like prey, tugging and tearing at his t-shirt and  
jeans, Aurora yanking off his boots and hands on his skin too fast  
for him to brace himself. Trying to track their movements in his  
mind, bicep to hand to thigh and over his hip and nails scratching  
at his nipple and there might as well be a thousand hands than  
four because he can't hold on to anything but the feeling.

Naked in front of them. Naked *for* them and he knows he  
wouldn't be able to leave even if they spent the rest of the night  
wrapped in each other with him shunted to some shadowed  
corner because... would it be so bad?

Would pride be worth losing any of this?

Tensing and flexing with it, cock still untouched by anything but  
air.  Vision hazy and unreliable. Northstar is using his speed for  
this now, each touch ending well before he feels it, arching into  
them useless, but he can't stop trying. Aurora in turn is slow,  
maddening, tickling his abdomen and the insides of his thighs  
with her nails, with her tongue. Fleeting kisses felt here and  
there, near hallucinatory-glimpse of Northstar on his knees  
behind her, one hand buried in her hair, the other biting at the  
pointed tip of her ear until she growls, shakes him off but  
Northstar is already behind above *around* him and Nate feels  
like some sort of fleshy banquet for the man.

Something to be tasted and teased and all but ignored, no  
comfort of psi-touch here -- Nate is blind to everything but his  
senses and their message is legion.

It's massive.  Something that he staggers under, that just barely  
lets him reach the bed and fall on it, and after he's not sure at all  
whether he fell or was pushed.  Lies naked on the rasp of the  
bedspread and watches the twins watch each other.  Somewhere  
at the back of his mind, uninvited, someone else's memories  
surface, and cognitive dissonance shakes his attention loose.  
Two different versions of the known.  Jean-Paul remembered --  
fierce, cold, politically gay and personally celibate -- and  
Jean-Paul touched -- electric and focused, mauling Nate and  
kissing Aurora and dragging the two of them closer and.  Closer.  
Down on either side of Nate in a move that should have been  
impossible by all he knows of physics.

Animals around him, bestial, his mind screaming of perversion  
and desire while the memories of someone (and who is it, exactly,  
that he absorbed once and who comes back to haunt him now) tell  
him to get out, that this is wrong, no matter what his body wants.

Which begs the question, of course, of whether the incest or the  
idea of Jean-Paul in bed with a girl is the more fundamentally  
*wrong* idea.  Though maybe, since they're twins, the usual rules  
don't count.  Particularly if Nate's between them, a little wide-eyed  
and startled, but thoroughly overwhelmed by the low-grade psi-  
connection of which the twins are actually making such  
magnificent use.

God, fuck yes. Using, teaming up on him, touching everywhere.  
Fingers and tongues and teeth and hot, ungentle caresses...

It's been said more than once that Northstar and Aurora have the  
personalities of wild dogs, and that's not far wrong.  Not just in  
sheer viciousness, though there are moments of that, but in their  
attachment to their pack.  Of two.  Anything they touch is going  
to come away mauled, though not necessarily bleeding...

Oh, *yes*, and Nate knows and needs it desperately.

Because he's well aware that he hasn't got a pack at all.  Lone  
wolf between two Alphas.  Always one of them with their teeth  
at his throat, the other holding him down.  Hands on each other  
intimate and incidental, nothing like their hands on him.  
Terrifying because there's nothing submissive about either of  
them, and he's going to have to fight to keep his own skin on.

And it's the most alive he's ever felt.

Electric.  He keeps thinking he's going to lose a hand if he's not  
careful.  Maybe more than a hand.  But his heart's enormous and  
wild and beating against the curve of Aurora's breasts like it  
could push loose and lift each dark nipple up to the light.

And Northstar behind him's just so.  Different.  Nothing in the  
world like a woman, not dangerous in the same way as Aurora.  
Smarter.  More focused.  Touching him in ways that're keyed  
exactly to make him react.  Teeth against Nate's shoulder, hand  
laid flat across his naked belly, long hard thigh pushed between  
his from behind in what's an elementally *male* threat.

All the more awakening because every time he reaches out  
mentally, there's this silver mesh of thoughts that the twins are  
throwing back and forth on an almost-unconscious level.  Like  
luminous insects in the corners of his mind.

Something he *wants* to reach for, but there's an unspoken,  
unsensed barrier there, as well. Not for him. Might as well be  
written in sky-high letters against the midnight outside.

And God, Aurora's breasts are something... something almost  
too much to touch, soft and heavy, with well defined pectorals  
beneath. Strong. She senses his attention and flexes them once,  
twice against him and he knows this is something he needed.

This unnatural strength, this incredible and incomplete pull of  
mind to mind as they toy with his body, as Northstar slips one  
hand between them to tease at the crack of his ass. Caress to  
near-tickle to insistent press against his hold and *there*.

That flare of thought and need between them, neon pastel  
fireflies, fairy lights and the sudden rough press *in*. He's done  
this before for any number of reasons, the pain is somewhere  
between negligible and achingly familiar, some minor secret  
found and laid bare.

One big hand reaches around from behind him, and he's  
surprised how disappointed he is when it doesn't touch him.  
Around to Aurora's shoulder, pulling her *in* against Nate's body,  
against Northstar's by proxy.  Two sets of teeth close on opposite  
sides of his right shoulder and he can't *not* scream, just arches  
back with his oh-heaven-too-hard cock pushing against Aurora's  
belly and his head against Northstar's shoulder and that hard  
touch *in* him.

Her teeth are still locked on his flesh when she throws a leg  
around his hip and makes that prettysoft place open to him.  
Soaking wet against his leg, and he can *smell* the want in her,  
isn't sure whether it's entirely for him but he'll take it.  Can't  
reach his own cock to take her, but Northstar's hand is there  
when it needs to be, squeezing him for a second and then  
vanishing, coming back with something so hot and slick and  
silver-liquid that it has to have come from Aurora's body.  Slicks  
him.  And guides him in.  Instant of external touch, his tip against  
her lips, sliding once into the sharp hair around them, and then  
he slides in and it's *easy*.

Gasps and feels her bite his throat, close to the big vein.  While  
Northstar rubs his fingertip around the place where Nate and  
Aurora are joined, grinning fiercely against Nate's skin when  
they both gasp.

Nate takes Aurora's waist while he takes his and they both  
*push* at the same second, driving the breath out of Nate  
completely and utterly, and over his shoulder, Nate's sure  
they're kissing.

Can't even think now beyond wondering what he feels about  
that, if it's any more wrong than the rest of this. Brother and  
sister, naked and... *taking* him. Unutterably together, and he  
wants to *see* it now. Wants to tongue at the places where  
*they* connect, taste that deceptively fragile lightning.  Wants  
to thrust and push and *fuck* and he's halfway into that  
fuck-dumb state where all he can truly think is *inside*.

Inside inside and Northstar teasing them both now, Northstar's  
fingers on his sister's lips, on the base of his cock, gently  
possessive now and have they done this before?

Young and lean and hungry, desperate to be that one cell again,  
that single being and it's too much, too fast and he gasps and  
moans against Aurora's collarbone, shifts against the ruthless  
finger in his ass that's almost there, almost where he needs it,  
almost perfect but Northstar removes it.

Replaces it with the hand he was teasing them with, the slick  
hot hand and Aurora's inside *him* now, and can she feel it?

Muffled gasps, wet sound of tongue on lip on teeth, curses  
and rough thrusts inside him, more a fuck than preparation, but  
Nathan is so ready it aches --

"*Please* --"

Psi-shocks not fading at all as Aurora rides him harder, as  
Jean-Paul stretches him wider to *push*, miss once in a glorious  
slide that makes Nate cry out, thrust much too hard into Aurora  
who only lets out a moaning chuckle that says *more* and then  
Jean-Paul is inside of him and there's a. Touch.

And he's connected, and there's bright and there's pain and the  
ecstasy of pure connection and Nate *is* there for them, loved,  
treasured as what brought them together for this. He *is* the  
rhythm and the touch, hands cupping Aurora's buttocks,  
squeezing, settling on the softness of hips to drag her onto  
him harder, faster, as Jean-Paul does the same to him and he  
can hear sobbing cries, more curses, and he has no idea where  
it's coming from, just knows that it's beautiful.

Luminous flesh around him.  It isn't, isn't really, a violation, if  
he doesn't actually push himself into that link, and only listens.  
Just *feels* it.  He's been missing this.  This sense of  
*connection*.  Pack and blood.  Something elemental that isn't  
what any civilized being would call love.  Need and desperate  
linkage.  Brilliance in a touch.

It *moves* in him.  Northstar in his body, him in Aurora, Aurora  
reaching over Nate towards her brother.  Almost not aware of  
him, and it's all he can do not to hurt her when he *slams*,  
physically and psychically, to get her attention.  Huge alien-blue  
eyes almost lost behind the black swell of her dilated pupils.  
But he's *linked* and it's like now she can finally see him, and  
she cups a hand behind Nate's head and pulls it down to the  
breast she offers up to him.  Breathy almost-laugh when he  
sucks.

Gets it.  The primalness of this, contained in an action he never  
actually performed before.  Can't remember the early  
motherness that should be there, no matter how deep he digs,  
and wonders in the half-aware way if this is why Jean Grey's  
body never feels as familiar as it should.  Nothing like as  
natural as this.  Aurora's body-scent crawling into his pores  
and hair and under his nails.  Gentle rock of her hips against  
him, careful not to push his mouth away.

Jean-Paul behind him's almost as careful.  Silver-watchful in  
the psilink.  Not jealous.  Very still in Nate's body, touching the  
hard, bright place almost incidentally, just as if he's not aware  
of the pleasure-flash that comes every time Nate and Aurora  
move.

When he raises his mouth from her nipple, he's amazed at the  
purpleness of it.  Touches the bruising half-reverently.  Wants  
to mouth the other one, but a big hand comes under his chin  
and turns him towards Northstar's reaching kiss.  Their mouths  
not quite near enough, but a narrow, hot tongue brushes the  
edge of his mouth and he opens to it, sucks it soft as Aurora's  
nipple and turns and turns and finally manages to just brush  
their lips together.

The next thrust pushes the tension in his body and all of his  
awareness loose, and he's desperately aware now that Jean-Paul's  
*fucking* him.  Almost brutally.  Sharp and low in him like  
Aurora's teeth on his chest are sharp and high, chewing over his  
breastbone and nipples as she slides down, still holding him in  
her body by some act of will.

The rhythm is there, though. Rougher now, uncomfortable in  
some unfathomable way -- he's never taken a woman so harshly  
before. Strange and frightening the way Aurora accepts it with  
raw, animal grace, the way Jean-Paul is controlling their bodies  
now, if not the link itself. The link is powerful, almost its own  
self, an expression of the *differentness* of this. Nate has also  
never been quite so lost in the slightly off-center realm of  
psi-power.  Not without the excuse of battle and the only  
inevitability here is that he surrender.

To the teeth dangerously near to drawing blood from his chest  
and throat, to the powerful hands driving and pushing and  
pulling at his hips, to the raw unnameable ache and pleasure of  
being so thoroughly fucked.

Unable to concentrate on both at once -- slick, tight heat  
near-grabbing at him from Aurora, the clear open fuck of  
Jean-Paul and he fights it, fights for some measure of control  
and gains something awful like freedom in the moment just  
before Jean-Paul sinks his own teeth into the  back and side of  
his throat.

Humiliating and effective to be warned like this, tamed to it.  
Jean-Paul is ruthless, where his sister is merely feral. Knot  
inside him chafed and pulsing with heat and impossible  
pleasure, cock buried so deep, so deep, slipping out of Aurora  
until just the head is inside, only to be slammed in again and  
again by Jean-Paul's thrusts and Nate is near to sobbing now,  
near to everything but sanity and so *open* for them, trust  
demanded, assumed, and Nate throws his head back against  
Jean-Paul's shoulder and lets himself be controlled.

Promise lived up to.

Flash bright pain ripping through the pleasure with Aurora's  
sharp little teeth, nails scraping down his side, pushing and  
pushing between them to yank at his pubic hair, reaching  
behind.

Silken ghostly sound of Aurora turning her claws on Jean-Paul  
instead, who responds with a brutality that Nate suddenly  
needs at just that moment, something to turn his sobs into yells,  
forced out with each thrust, pulsed into the air with helpless  
need.

Helpless everything and he's so lost and he can barely hold on  
to Aurora's bucking hips, can barely *take* this but he has to,  
no choice, and the orgasm rips through him like a scream, with  
a scream, and he jerks raggedly, feels more than hears Aurora's  
own orgasm, as Jean-Paul thrusts harshly once, twice, three  
times more before coming inside Nate with a roughly controlled  
groan that makes his oversensitized cock twitch.

Nate pulls his knees up a bit, just *that close* to going fetal.  
Aurora lets him.  She whimpers, softly, when he pulls out, but  
then pulls her own hips away just enough that Nate's knees  
can fit between them.  Touches him.  Hand on his shoulder, hand  
on his face.  Leans in and kisses him, very gently.  And to the  
extent he can think at all, he thinks that this is so essentially  
Aurora, the personality-swings and sudden manifestations of  
sentiments you wouldn't, to the extent that you know anything  
about this world, believe she possessed.

Jean-Paul behind him is a hard, fiercely *male* body, tight up  
against his spine.  Knee against the back of his knees.  In him,  
still.  Jean-Paul's weight forces  Nate closer and closer to  
belly-down.  Dominant.  He does go down, finally, and almost  
shrieks from the scrape of the bedspread against his cock.  
Aching, just.  Aching.  Feels Jean-Paul bite the back of his neck,  
not playfully.  Puts him in his place, he understands.  Teeth  
wide against his flesh and spinal column telling him that he's  
new, that he's young, that he'd damn well better watch himself.

Only after that, hard lips kissing the bitten place.  And Jean-Paul  
starts rubbing him.  Shoulders, shoulder blades, spine, arms.  
Pulls out of him, very carefully.  Rubs him there too, after,  
softly, whispering a comfort that's less to him just at the moment  
than the soothing affection coming down the link.

The weight slides off him, and a slender but definitely male arm  
pulls Nate back onto his side.  Holds him, fits him gracefully into  
the lines of Jean-Paul's body, pets him in the few seconds it takes  
Aurora to gather herself up and fit her softer body against Nate's  
front.  So tight against him.  Her and him and Nate between  
them, like a barely-solid barrier who gathers the touches they  
don't give each other.  Both of them licking his wounds.  While  
he whimpers whenever one of them pushes too hard against a  
sore place.

Feels their tongues twine against his shoulder, and their kiss  
form.  Wonders what the hell he got himself into and how it can  
possibly feel so good.


End file.
